Journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall reports from the the second half of life -- on books, writing . . . her husband, house, aging relatives and grown-up kids.
Peter tuning up for schoolyard raunch. Photo by BF Newhall
By Barbara Falconer Newhall, September 13, 1987, The Oakland Tribune
Little Max is off to kindergarten for his first taste of the real world. What will he learn?
Dr. Seuss? Two plus two? Maybe.
“Jingle bells, Batman smells,
Robin laid an egg . . .”
Probably. [Read more...]
My daughter Christina ran 6 miles in less time than it took me to walk 3. She was doing her stretches on the sidewalk when I arrived back at the Lululemon store in Berkeley. Photos by BF Newhall
By Barbara Falconer Newhall
I was all of three or four years old, pumping away on the pedals of my tricycle, near tears because the big kids were leaving me behind.
“Wait for me!” I cried.
Nobody listened. [Read more...]
Daffodil. Photos by BF Newhall
By Barbara Falconer Newhall
I don’t like daffodils. I feel about daffodils the way I feel about some of my writing – too damned cheerful. Too nicey-nice. Too tidy. Too certain that in the end everything’s going to come out just fine, that all shall be well. [Read more...]
In the mood for something beautiful? Take a virtual tour of the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel, complete with musical accompanyment.
Hint: Click and move your mouse around the image, then click on the plus or minus signs to get close-ups of the various paintings.
Enjoy!
Peter, loaded for bear. Halloween, 1987. Photos by BF Newhall.
By Barbara Falconer Newhall,July 26, 1987, The Oakland Tribune
A week? A whole week? I tried to sound grown up. [Read more...]
